


Leafage

by okapi



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/pseuds/okapi
Summary: Jeeves is proprietor of Eulalie Sir, a line of lingerie for the discreet and discriminating gentleman. Bertie helps him make a decision about the spring collection.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73
Collections: Dick or Treat - Scrohto Region, Merry Month of Masturbation 2020





	Leafage

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2020 Merry Month of Masturbation, 2020 Dick or Treat, and my Jeeves Bingo I-2 square 'a ruined article of clothing.'
> 
> Both outfits are inspired by lingerie from Agent Provocateur. The first is [the Icaris](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/gb_en/icaris-pasties-ivory) pasties with bridal knickers and garter, and the second is [the Adora bodysuit](https://www.agentprovocateur.com/gb_en/adora-pasties-silver).

“Business, sir,” said Jeeves.

This reply might surprise a reader ignorant of a certain context.

When a gentleman asks his gentleman’s gentleman what has prompted that good and faithful to abandon Queen Mab’s embrace at an hour when all carriages have long since turned to pumpkins and seek the solace of a hot milk drink in the kitchen, the reply of ‘business, sir’ might give pause. One might wonder what element of the y. m.’s care and upkeep is upkeeping the keeper. The more heretical might even exclaim, ‘Dash it all, do trouser really matter so much?’

But Jeeves is not just a valet. He is also in the leafage business, fig leafage, the Garden-of-Eden kind, but just the Adam half, not the Eve half, or rather the Eve half only if Eve shared her leafage with Adam, which I’m rather vague on given it wasn’t covered in the examinations on scripture knowledge for which I won a prize at school. But where was I? Oh, yes, what I was trying to convey was that Jeeves is the proprietor of Eulalie Sir, a mail-order line of lingerie for the discreet and discerning gentleman, and the origin of his sleep disturbance was in this hemisphere of labour.

“May I help?” I asked with a tug of my dressing gown sash, a gesture, I suspect, not unlike the ancestors’ girding of loins before Agincourt. “After all I did write that article on what the well-dressed man is wearing for _Milady’s Boudoir_. It’s not really so far a jump to advise you on what the well-dressed man is wearing _from_ milady’s boudoir.”

“There is something in what you say, sir,” admitted Jeeves before unburdening his secret sorrow. “The scout has returned from the Continent. I’ve made a decision about all but two items, but,” he shook the lemon, “I can’t seem to make up my mind about those two.”

Now if this revelation hasn’t shed much light on the matter, let me add a bit more. The inventory of Eulalie Sir, as I understand it, is half tried-and-trues, what fashion experts such as myself might term ‘classics’ while the other half could be referred to as flights-of-fancy, trendy bits and bobs. Jeeves sends emissaries to scour the map gathering samples in the latter classification, much like the Royal Geographic Society sends stiff-upper-lipped explorers to remote parts of the globe to net unnamed butterflies and beetles and whatnots.

“Well, let’s see them,” I said. “And then you’ll have one opinion beside your own.”

Jeeves surrendered to the wisdom of this, and soon, I was turning the Wooster eye upon a pair of scanty thingagummies laid out on his bed.

I scratched the onion. “I see what you mean, Jeeves. They could be winners, like Magic Carpet at last year’s Goodwood, or they could be non-starters, like that fit-for-glue I put my little all on.”

“That is the dilemma, sir.”

“Well, there’s only one thing for it, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ve got to try them on. Got any proper shoes?”

“Yes, sir.”

And that was how I ended up dancing about in the sitting room and humming “This is the Missus” in pale blue satin knickers with a heart cut out in the front, a pale blue ribbon garter around one thigh and a pair of marabou feather puffs covering the nips. Jeeves had unearthed some fancy white clogs to complete the ensemble, and I proceeded to swing a dashed efficient shoe as I sang.

“ _This is the Missus, just look her over_

_This is the Missus, she's mine_

_I'll get those kisses, now I'm in clover_

_I've caught some fish on my line_.”

Knowing Jeeves would want to observe how the garment held up under use, I shimmied the shoulders, letting the feather puffs do their stuffs, and rolled the hips and jiggled and wriggled for all I was worth. I was careful to give him the front view and the back view and right and left profiles.

For a finale, I put the toe of my shoe on the edge of his chair and lunged forward, striking a pose with my arms curled behind my head.

“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked, my chest heaving from the Ziegfeld exertion.

I sensed a firm _nolle prosequi_ on the horizon as sometime during my performance Jeeves had gone more than a bit stuffed frog, but he only gurgled,

“Sir, I fear I’m in grave danger of soiling my clothing.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” I exclaimed. “Strip and give yourself the ol’ heave-ho, then get back to work! Captains of frilly lace industry don’t let a stiff member get in the way of their professional judgement! I’ll go get the slick and give you an encore, what?”

“I would greatly appreciate it, sir.”

And so that’s how I ended up doing the whole number all over again while a half-nude Jeeves frigged himself in the chair.

Undaunted, I unchained my inner chorus girl and gave it all I had.

“This is the Missus, she's mine!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jeeves. He’d already swabbed his deck with the wet flannel I’d had the good sense to bring with the slick. “It will be added to Eulalie Sir’s inventory, and with your choice of musical accompaniment, I believe you’ve hit on a line for the catalogue: ‘Second honeymoon or first, your something blue is sure to woo.’

“Egad, Jeeves. Is it bridal?” I looked down at the fluffy nips and the rather dream-rabbit heart-shaped window. “That advertisement would send me screaming in the opposite direction, but you know your clientele. All right, ready for number two?”

“Yes, sir, but if I may ask a few questions?”

Jeeves wrapped his dressing gown round himself, picked up his clipboard which had slid to the ground, and followed me. He remained at a respectful distance in the hallway during my costume change, peppering me with inquiries about ease of getting into and out of the garment, no doubt, all necessary fodder for the fine print.

“Oh, Jeeves! This is the stuff to give the troops! It’s like fancy dress costume. I think I like this almost, almost, I say, as much as that Sinbad the Sailor.”

Jeeves almost smiled, that is to say, one corner of his mouth quivered slightly. “It does suit you rather well, sir.”

“Rather,” I agreed.

The ‘it’ in question was a suit composed mostly of rose gold and silver diamond shapes held to each other by gold chains. There was a head piece and a necklace which connected to the knickers by chains. The knickers were made up of gold and silver diamonds, and the chains had tiny gold and silver diamond on them. And, of course, the nips were covered each by a silver diamond shape.

“I don’t think Eulalie’s gentlemen are going to get the full effect, Jeeves, unless they see this thing in action,” I declared after launching into song and dance. “A printed illustration won’t quite capture it.”

The chains swung back and forth as I shimmied, and the effect was enchanting.

“Quite possibly, sir.”

I danced around the sitting room, once again giving Jeeves all the views and making certain to throw my head about so he could see how the headdress moved.

_Little nifties from the fifties, innocent and sweet_

_Sexy ladies from the eighties, who are indiscreet_

_They're side by side, they're glorified_

_Where the underworld can meet the elite_

_Forty-Second Street!_

At first, Jeeves bobbed the onion and scribbled shorthand, but by the time I hit my last mark, he’d let the clipboard slide to the floor once again. He parted the curtain of the dressing gown, allowing his cock to take centre stage.

I didn’t blame him. I, too, was feeling the strain.

My cock wanted to return Jeeves’ salute but was held somewhat strangled by the metalwork knickers.

I leaned forward and shook my shoulders as I neared Jeeves. The chains which covered the Wooster torso swayed back and forth.

“Jeeves,” I said in a kind of half moan as I swung round and lowered myself into his lap.

“Yes, sir.”

Jeeves’ hand came round and gripped my chest, covering the nips as if they were heaving bosoms of the delicately nurtured variety. I found I liked the usual sensation of the thin chains being pressed to my skin.

But all thought was lost when Jeeves ripped the shinies from my nips entirely.

“Oh!” I cried out and arched my back. It was just the kind of pinch I craved.

Overwhelmed by pleasure, I sank into a kind of half squat, the better to rub the posterior against Jeeves’ very stiff cock.

“Yes, yes,” he murmured. “Let’s see how it stands up to frigging.”

In short, it didn’t.

Or at least the knickers didn’t.

Jeeves’ slicked fist snapped both side clasps at the first tug of the Wooster cock, but I was too enamoured of his touch to register too much disappointment or even the sound of the smithy’s delight falling to the floor.

While Jeeves ran that wonderful fist up and down the maypole, two slicked fingers began to knock at the back door.

“Come in, come in!” I cried hospitably as I bounced. “I prefer an assault on all fronts!”

Into Jeeves’ fist, onto his fingers, it was all very, very good.

Jeeves licked and bit at my neck as I turned my head and cooed military-campaign-inspired encouragement. One chomp of his, however, snapped the necklace and the whole assembly of chains slid from my body to join their silver-and-gold compatriots on the rug.

“Jeeves!”

I was now plastered to him, my back to his chest. My black high-heeled shoes were planted firmly on the ground in what can only be described as a wide stance, and I was in a frenzy, thrusting up into his hand, wanting more and more.

“Finish me off, Jeeves!” I begged. “Then throw me on the sofa and ride me like Sanchez rode Tiger’s Stripes at Ascot!”

Jeeves curled his fingers deep inside me and squeezed my cock with unusual ferocity, and I, being sensitively planted, went off like a roman candle. Then I found myself flying through the air with the greatest of ease and landing face-first into the sofa with my hindquarters in the air.

“Oh!” I groaned when I felt the first nudge of Jeeves’ cockhead at my hole. “Give it to me.”

He gave it to me.

Specifically, he rocked his cock into my stretched arsehole, pulling almost completely out, then pushing slightly deeper with each hard thrust.

“Jeeves,” I moaned and reached a hand up to yank the headdress from my brow. “I’m afraid this one is a dud. The only part which has stood the test is this.”

I held the chain and diamond shapes out for his inspection, then let them drop.

“Indeed, sir. I think,” Jeeves paused to give a celebratory groan when his cock was fully sheathed in the Wooster sitter, “that it would not be a good addition to the Eulalie Sir collection. One must consider the profit margin.”

“And,” I added, with a whimper, “as leafage goes, metal is a bit unforgiving.”

“As you say, sir. Oh, sir.”

“Yes, Jeeves. Go on and give us a good sodding. I’m aching for it.”

What happened next was well worth the slight discomfort I suffered the follow day whenever I was in a seated position.

I will just add a small coda to these reminiscences.

About two weeks after Jeeves added ‘the Missus’ to the spring collection, I received a note from my old pal Bingo Little.

“Jeeves,” I said as Jeeves poured the second cup of bonhomie, “Bingo and Mrs. Bingo are going to America on a promotional tour of Mrs. Bingo’s books. He’s calling it a second honeymoon.” I chuckled. “I wonder if his something blue is going to woo.”

Jeeves replied, “I can neither confirm nor deny, sir,” and oozed sphinx-like out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
